


Sons of Conviction

by ruethereal



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruethereal/pseuds/ruethereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot is drowning in turmoil. But only one person can determine whether the kingdom surfaces once more. Let the cup runneth over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sons of Conviction

**Author's Note:**

> Like I need any more works-in-progress, but this AU plot has been bugging me for months (read: since last summer!!!). But no promises, and much apologies in advance: this will be slow-going...

There is no denying these are dire times.  Yet members of court will think of my decision to resurrect a bygone practice with little favor. They do not understand: seeking out a cupbearer is the simplest of measures to prevent treachery.  Gaius, at least, approves.

And, fanciful as it may be, this is one occasion I can allow myself the leisure of seeing my lands.

Ealdor.

Any farther and I may as well straddle the border with sword drawn.  Still, to see this village, small but nevertheless prosperous, I find myself struck with an overwhelming sense of pride.  And at the same time, humility.

“My Lord.”

This woman, too.  The sun-browned brow and soil-stained palms, all evidence of hard labor.  But dignified.  Hunith, Gaius had called her. An old friend of his, but a widow, he said.  And with a son.

“His age?” I ask, lifting the boy’s face by the chin.

“This will be his sixth winter, My Lord.”

I had reservations upon first seeing the child, pale and thin as he was.  But his eyes.  The fear had been superficial, I know.  For behind them stir the perfect combination of respect and defiance.  Crystalline.  Blue.  I’m briefly reminded of Ygraine.

From those few moments looking into this boy’s eyes, I knew, he would never be able to lie to me.

“Your name?”

A subtle jerk of his head, and he’s freed himself from my grasp.  I pretend to not have noticed.

“Your name.”

“Merlin... Sire.”

Despite his insolence, his eyes have yet to leave my own.  I decide, then, on him.  Merlin.

“Camelot is far from here, from Ealdor.  But I cannot take you unless you yourself agree to come with me, Merlin.  I need willingness from my servants more than I do adoration.”

I watch as he turns to his mother as if seeking his answer in the premature lines of her face.

“You need not answer now,” I say, directing my attention to the woman as well.  “I will return in three days.”

“I’ll come with you now.”

His mother’s hand is remarkably steady when she rests it on his bony shoulder.  And this time, it’s her touch he shies away from.  But I find myself almost relieved, grateful.  I beckon for one of my knights to bring my horse forward, then present my hand to the child.  He takes it with little hesitation.  He’s far lighter than I expect as I myself lift him into the saddle.  And I wonder, should Ygraine one day bear my son, if he too will feel so fragile in my hands.

The boy seems perfectly at ease, offering his mother only a single wave before I nudge the mare with my heels.

We’ve only forest before us, the village of Ealdor not far behind.  And, peering down at the child’s raven-haired head, turning every which way, I presume, to take in his foreign surroundings, I’m overcome with a strange rush of fondness for him, though he is still very much a stranger to me.

“Thank you, Merlin.”


End file.
